Destined
by Anethoren
Summary: It's been 10 years since Catherine Chandler was supposed to have died in childbirth. Yet, she is alive and searching for Vincent and their child. Will Vincent believe she is alive? Will Muirfield kidnap the child? Who are the agents from Orchard Industries?And what secrets does Vanessa Chandler bring with her from the grave? AU. Vincent/Cat Please read & review.
1. Chapter 1

Destined

By Aneth Oren 2013

Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters

In visions of the dark night  
I have dreamed of joy departed-  
But a waking dream of life and light  
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Dreams by Edgar Allen Poe

Chapter 1

Ten years had passed since Catherine Chandler's memory was laid to rest; her frozen skeletal remains were believed to be resting deep underground. The earth above her grave in New York was barren and desolate. No flowers for her grave; no prayers from mourners. She had passed through life like an autumn wind, bright and full of promise, only to be drowned by winters' gales. All that remained now was a blanket of ivory snow. The streets were deserted; like St. Michael's Cathedral, where Vincent Keller still mourned his lover.

He came to the great cathedral to do Catherine honor; to try and erase the hurt he knew he had inflicted on her when he had told her they could never marry. How alive she had been then! How full of hope! His soul could not let it rest. She had tried to protect him, to save him, and he had cost her her life. How careless he had been! He chastised himself over and over. How careless to not think for a moment that she would conceive a child. And she had carried the secret alone, avoiding doctors and hospitals for fear they would be discovered and that Muirfield would come and snatch her and her child away. He had remained alert, always watching, but at the end when her poor body could take no more, she had delivered her child and her life. And he knew then, knew the power of her love, for she had given the ultimate sacrifice. And so he came here, to this ancient place of worship and of faith, to beg forgiveness. He came in the hope that one day he could forgive himself and be forgiven. For himself he did not expect much, but he also asked for the sake of the child Catherine had entrusted to his care, that she too be protected and allowed to grow safe and happy.

Vincent crouched inside the tall towers of the ancient structure. It was early morning in Toronto and not even the gay lights of Christmas and soft falling snow flakes could dispel Vincent's gloom. Even the memory of their love, evergreen and constant as it was in his heart, could not erase his anguish and guilt.

He sat back on his heels and watched a laughing couple walk past. Their voices reached him and with his enhanced hearing he was able to make out their tender loving words. Scowling, for he hated lovers, Vincent closed his eyes. At once and much against his will, came her face into his mind. Catherine. She had been his greatest achievement and his most bitter defeat. Even after he had regained his memory and managed to recall Catherine in her entirety, Muirfield rose once more. This time, however, it was more potent than ever. Muirfield called out to him, refusing to be ignored. It seemed now, to Vincent, all he and his love had fought for, had been for one thing: absolutely nothing. Muirfield was still watching them, waiting for the right moment to snatch him or his daughter. With them they could begin their experiments on him again, and he knew what they wanted from him: a mindless brutal killer-soldier. But what did they want from his child? JT theorized that his daughter's dna could hold vital genetic clues useful in the transformation of all the men and women Muirfield's experiments had changed into raging beasts. Vincent knew without doubt that if Muirfield got his hands on his child, her life would become a never ending round of medical experiments until they no longer needed her. And then, he thought, they would sell her. He wondered if things would have been different for them if there had been a cure for him. Could Muirfield find a cure for the beasts and return them to their normal selves? Yet, it seemed Muirfield was more intent on catching him than curing him. And when the child was born he had despaired then, despaired of not being able to protect her. But when things seemed at its darkest and bleakest, they had been saved.

Before Muirfield could inflict more pain and horror into their lives—JT, and his ever resourceful network—whisked them all away to Canada. Here, they had settled in downtown Toronto, with its historic buildings and wharves, reminiscent of New York City. Eventually, JT managed to update his resume and found work teaching a couple of courses at the University of Toronto.

Breaking out of his reverie, Vincent realized the sun was breaking through the silver storm clouds and decided it was time to go home; JT would be wondering where he had been all night. Reggie would soon be waking up, too.

About to leap onto the street below, Vincent checked himself when he noticed a large garbage truck amble into view. Instead, he crept down the east side of the great cathedral, careful to keep himself well out of sight. He had to be careful not to be seen. Already there was talk amongst the homeless of a voiceless _bon ange—or good angel, _as they called him—the faceless do-gooder who had foiled several muggings and strong armed robberies.

Vincent checked his watch. 8:15. By now both JT and Reggie would be fully awake. He steeled himself and at a brisk pace walked toward the abandoned warehouse they had called home for a decade.

He heard them all the way from the ground floor. The sound of a heated argument was well underway. Vincent flinched when Reggie's uncontrolled screech echoed down the silent floors. How many times had he warned them about making too much noise? Were they both deaf? Vincent could forgive Reggie; she _was_, after all, only ten years old. But what about JT? When had the unflappable bachelor turned into a spinster aunt? Climbing the concrete steps to their second story home, Vincent pushed open the heavy steel door and walked into a large airy room. Very similar to their old warehouse in New York, here there was a large rectangular table which served as both desk and dining table. To the left was a small sink, a tiny refrigerator to the right, and several PC's, laptops, and monitors behind it.

JT and Reggie were so engrossed in their verbal battle that neither saw Vincent. If they did, they made no acknowledgement. The two were having breakfast and seated at the dining table, while Vincent watched with some amusement as Reggie contended:

"Why is it green, then, Precious?" Using her best Gollum voice, she was waving a slice of untoasted rye bread. With her other hand she tossed her long straight, black hair behind her back. Like her mother's hair, it was glossy and thick.

Adjusting his glasses, JT responded, exasperation in his voice: "It's not green! That's the way it comes."

"Moldy."

"Not moldy. Look, rye bread is good for you."

Reggie arched an eyebrow and in full Gollum mode asked, "Green bread is good for me?"

"It's not green!" JT nearly shouted.

"Thank you." Said Reggie. She nodded once, satisfied she'd made her point. "Moldy."

"Oh, go to school." JT muttered, rolling his eyes.

It was at this moment that Vincent cleared his throat and both looked up. Reggie slid off her chair and came to him, offering him a hug. Vincent dropped to one knee and accepted it. Her arms were warm, her skin soft. Reggie felt so small and fragile in his embrace. She smelled of cologne and Tootsie Rolls.

"Wait. Is that my Aramis after shave?" JT rolled his eyes, again.

"Dad!"

As always, he had to swallow back the lump that formed in his throat. Reggie was so much like Catherine; all she had of him were his dark, brooding eyes.

"Dad, I want a dog." Her voice was firm; the tone unyielding. She had given this much thought.

"No!" JT and Vincent simultaneously shouted.

"Why not?"

"Dogs don't like me." Vincent countered.

"And they're too noisy." JT added.

"Speak for yourself." Reggie countered, her voice muffled by her father's shirt.

"Regina…" Warned Vincent.

"Oh, I'm sorry Daddy. But, Uncle JT has too many rules."

"Saved our lives more than once." JT mumbled under his breath.

But, Vincent had heard and knew JT was right. He had come to learn JT was almost always right. He had been right about Catherine's pregnancy. He had been right about Reggie's breached position in the womb. And he had been right to take him and Reggie away to Canada.

Now, looking into his daughter's eyes, he wondered again: How had they made it all this time? How had _he?_ He had once told Catherine he couldn't live without her. And her death had nearly shattered him into a million pieces.

It was JT who had pulled him from the brink of desperation. He reminded him he had a daughter to protect. All that was left of _her._

Why had Muirfield taken them off the radar? Wouldn't they be interested in Reggie? JT believed this to be true. At the thought of Muirfield hunting his daughter, a great fire of protection welled up in Vincent's chest. He'd destroy Muirfield with his bare hands before he'd let them take Reg.

Sensing something wrong at the tensing of her father's muscles, Reggie looked into Vincent's eyes. She knew the golden glow meant he was disturbed about something.

"What's wrong, Dad?" Like Catherine, Reggie knew how to soothe the beast.

Vincent cleared himself and smiled, "Nothing Punkin'." He saw her wince at the use of her childhood moniker. "Time for school."

Leaning in to give her father a kiss on the cheek, Reggie replied meekly, "Alright, Dad."

Grabbing her pink Hello Kitty backpack, she walked to the open laptop her uncle had waiting for her and signed in. Soon she was lost in sixth grade math.

JT watched Reggie for a moment before gesturing for Vincent to follow him. He led them toward the sleeping areas where they could speak without being overheard.

"You weren't seen?" JT asked worry coloring his voice.

"Nah."

"Good, because…" Here JT stopped at Vincent's glare. "All's I'm saying, big guy, is that we gotta be extra careful now, for her sake." He pointed his chin toward Reggie's direction.

"I know." Vincent began.

"Look, you and I both know you can't go wandering into psychotherapy. So…I'm all you got." JT leveled a meaningful look at Vincent. "Talk."

Vincent smoothed his hair away from his face and sighed. "Oh, I don't know, man." He began . "It's just that Christmas always makes me sick to my stomach."

JT grinned, "Yeah, the Scrooge syndrome. Familiar with it myself."

Vincent shook his head, "No, it's not that way. It's that it was _her_ favorite time of the year."

JT understood, "You mean Catherine's" He saw Vincent nod and look away. "Hey, V, how long have we known each other? I've seen you cry, big guy." JT had meant to be light hearted but somehow his last words had carried more emotion than he intended. "It seems to me you've got a pretty powerful reminder of her in that little girl. And you would do well to keep that in mind."

Vincent turned to JT, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're right." His voice was hoarse. "You're _always_ right."

"Look at it this way," JT began, "We've managed to keep Muirfield out our lives all this time, They haven't come looking for Reggie and her dna and they haven't come looking for you or tried to disinter Catherine's body. We're two old codgers living and raising a ten year old going on forty-five. We haven't been detected and we live pretty safe and quiet lives. Except, of course, if Regina gets her way with you, which she always does and we wind up with a dog."

Despite his sadness, Vincent smiled and said, "No, no dog."

"Okay, then" JT smiled and gave Vincent a solid slap on the back.

There would be no dog, no matter how much Regina begged and whined. A dog would give them away. JT was right: dogs were too noisy.''

And, after all, JT was _always_ right.

* * *

He laid on his bed and closed his eyes. Sleep ignored him. He could not rest., His thoughts were all about Catherine. He could hear her voice in his mind; he relived all their happiest moments. He remembered the night on her rooftop when he told her he loved her and she declared her own love for him. That had kept him going. Her death had been his near breaking point. Vincent sat up on his elbows. Yet….there was a hint, a trace of her. It came sometimes in the sounds of city traffic. It rumbled past him on the railcars that rolled close by. It sailed on the wind that caressed his face and hair. Sometimes he closed his eyes and imagined the wind were her fingers. He missed the touch of her, her scent, her warmth. And yet..and yet…he could not discount the taste of her that came to him every night.

He finally gave up trying to sleep and dressed. It was still mid morning and Reggie was still at her PC so he didn't disturb her. Instead he poured himself a cup of coffee and walked to a window. He touched the glass, it was frigid. His gaze roamed past the deserted buildings and he felt the desire to search for her. He frowned, search for her? Vincent's thoughts roamed back past the years and he wondered where they would've have been now if Catherine had lived. How Reggie would have turned out. How would Reggie had been with her mother beside her to guide her, comfort her, protect her, be the model of womanhood Reggie would one day be. What kind of mother would Catherine have been. And he asked himself, would there have been more children? Reggie had been a surprise, but he asked himself, if Catherine had lived, would she have had more children with him? Would they have grown old together? Would there have been grandchildren for them?

Thoughts like these brought him to ponder on Reggie. Was she a beast? Had she inherited his corrupt DNA? And if Dr. Chandler was telling the truth, was Reggie a beast too?

He would have to watch his daughter for tell tale signs. Signs only he could see and interpret. Yet, after all this time he had never seen any hint that Reggie had inherited his corrupt DNA.

Vincent shook his head and told himself all of these 'what ifs' were useless.

Catherine was dead.. Dead and buried, Vincent told himself.

So, why did his senses tell him otherwise? Why did his spirit respond to her call?

Why did his mind and his body tell him that Catherine was somewhere out there?

He looked out the window again, sending his senses out over the frozen streets of Toronto and then he stiffened,

It came to him, at first as a soft kiss, but then gathering strength, "_Vincent."_

He found himself calling her name under his breath, "_Catherine?"_

And then it came again, riding the wintry air, "_Vincent_"

He felt the powerful call of her spirit and he almost recoiled from it. It could not be! She was dead.

"Why do you haunt me, Catherine?" He asked in a low voice. "I've have done the best I knew, all I knew to do. I loved you. I love you, still. Your child thrives. Haunt me no more."

Scowling in confusion and hurt, closing his mind to her siren call, Vincent turned away from the window.

* * *

**Thanks to my wonderful beta MayaLala. If you read, please consider leaving a review. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

Destined

By Aneth Oren 2013

Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters.

Chapter 2

Listening to Sugar, by Wanderhouse

She had given up her old life in New York, to be able to search for the child she knew she had borne.

It had taken Catherine ten years to track him here, to the port city of Toronto, Canada. They had been ten years of her life, pursuing leads which usually turned to be a waste of time. Sometimes she wearied and contemplated leaving things as they were. But she couldn't. She was propelled by a force that impelled her to look for her child, to look for Vincent. She knew he would take good care of her baby. Sometimes she cried for all that was lost. Her arms ached to hold her child. Her dreams came to her and sometimes showed her what her baby looked like. In her dreams she could smell that baby scent that all babies had, she would hold her infant and coo to her.

As the years passed, the child in her dreams grew, almost as if apace with the passing years of her life. In her dreams her baby became a toddler, whose first steps were taken tumbling into Vincent's arms and not her own. Those had been the difficult years and she often awoke in tears.

Each year, Catherine would buy a cake and light candles on her baby's birthday. And all her child's presents were still unopened, waiting for small hands to rip apart the colorful wrapping she'd chosen. Catherine always picked out toys which would delight either a boy or a girl.

It had pained her that Vincent had never looked for her, that neither he or JT had reached out for her, tried to find her. She knew her case had made front page news and she also knew both men kept abreast of what was happening in the city. How could they have not known about her situation? How could Vincent have given up on her? After her supposed burial, Catherine had retreated to the realm of memories. That was what she had become: a memory. When she gave up her life, she knew she had to give up her baby. But that was unacceptable. Her baby needed her and she needed her baby. Neither would be complete without the other. She decided to step back and search for them It had taken her ten long years of looking. It had been a time of loneliness, with no friends, no family, no one to cry on when she felt desolate and so miserably alone. They had been years of missed birthdays, missed Christmases, missed runny noses and lost homework Her life had been given up for the sake of another, but she didn't regret her decision, only the emptiness it brought. She envied Vincent for he had been given all of these things, things which were ripped away from her life forever. But after those ten long years it was the bon ange craze in Toronto which had finally convinced her it had to be Vincent. The pattern was similar to the vigilante killings of New York, exactly ten years before. They had stopped as suddenly as they had begun.

"Vincent." She whispered. Her breath frosted the window glass. She delighted in the sound of his name. She loved the feel of the syllables as they dropped away from her tongue. "Vincent." She repeated in a low hush, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to spill from her beautiful and expressive eyes.

Catherine looked out the train's window on this frosty December morning and mused. She didn't even know the sex of her child. She had some recollection of the night she had gone into labor. It was a night she had happily spent with Vincent in their secret place. The pains had come and she had refused to go to a hospital, fearing Vincent and JT would be exposed. The delivery had been very difficult and she had labored for over sixteen hours to bring her baby forth into the world. Her next memory was of waking in a sterile hospital room where the police were eager to ask her where her baby was. She had been taken to the emergency room, most likely by Vincent himself, brought in as a Dead On Arrival, but had been brought back by the ER personnel. Thanks to her friendship with the NYC examiner, Evan Marks, and his contacts, she had been able to get the police off her back long enough to formulate an escape plan. She had given up her job as an investigative reporter for the _New York Press_ and had gone into hiding in Evan's apartment. He had kept her informed of what was happening. Through Evan, Catherine had learned there had been a funeral for her. Aghast at these news, she had asked Evan to nose around. How had she been declared legally dead without a body? This was the only way to hold a funeral for her. What Evan learned was even more astounding: a body supposed to be her, was presented by another medical examiner for the state of NY, certifying it was she and providing a death certificate. Evan had been sure this was the work of Muirfield. As a result, Catherine had gone deeper underground, asking Evan to help her obtain new ID's so she could leave New York City.

Thus had begun Catherine's odyssey in search of her lover and her baby. It had been a journey of sadness, loneliness and fear. A journey which had taken her ten years to complete. In those ten years she had built a name for herself within the news reporting industry. As a reporter she had an inside track to police investigations and proceedings. .She had worked very hard to find him and now she was narrowing in. She was filled with an excitement which was difficult for her to contain. What would Vincent say when he learned she had not died? How would she connect with her child? How was she to juggle her job at the Toronto _Snoop _and her search?

Catherine was worried. She felt it in her heart that she was very close. But she also knew an icy fear. She knew from experience that Muirfield was relentless. Lately her dreams of a happy child had turned into nightmares. She dreamed of experiments on Vincent. Her dreams were filled by his screams. Screams of horror and pain. Her dreams showed her child strapped to a medical table where she was hooked to numerous tubes. She remembered his warning once when they had had a pregnancy alarm. Vincent had been very clear: a child of his would forever be hunted. She had told him the test strip had been negative, when in fact it showed a positive result. She had not known how to tell him, given the panic in his voice. It had hurt her to learn he had not wanted children. And she remembered his bewilderment when she had begun to show. She had turned to Evan, then. He had given her support and encouragement because she knew he loved her. Vincent had remained stoic throughout her pregnancy, but sometimes he checked her condition, and she trusted him because he was a doctor. He would know if something was wrong.

Still, what did these dreams portend? Were they a warning of things to come? Was Muirfield circling, like hungry vultures? Were they waiting for the right moment to move, to pounce? She had to somehow warn them. Could she reach Evan? She hadn't spoken to him in ten years. Would he be willing to help her find the man who was his adversary?

She had not known of Evan's death shortly after she had left New York, nor of Muirfield's search for them, or of Orchard Industries'attempts to keep them safe. Orchard was Muirfield's greatest enemy, but Catherine did not know of this, nor that she and Vincent and her child were under Orchard's protection.

She worried her bottom lip until it threatened to bleed and then she turned her thoughts to the bong ange. What would she deliver to Victor Cameron? Certainly not the truth. She had to think of an angle that would keep Victor satisfied and not throw a light on Vincent and their child...

* * *

Catherine exited the transit train she took to work. She joined the wave of commuters already teeming at a crosswalk, just fresh off the Kennedy Road station, and along with them crossed to Lawrence Avenue when the light turned green. The _Snoop_ building was not far up ahead and after a minute's walk she turned into the old structure, grateful to leave the frigid air behind her.

The offices of the Toronto _Snoop_ were situated only several blocks from Vincent's warehouse. It was a red brick building which sat at the edge of the waterfront, almost a century old. Like most old buildings it smelled of stale cigarette smoke, dust, and recycled air. Here was where broken dreams came to; where the once famous and beautiful could still aspire to grace the covers of a magazine, even if it was considered by the industry to be nothing more than a scandal tabloid. And though few would admit to reading it, circulation for the _Snoop_ was steady and increasing now that award-winning investigative reporter, Catherine Grey had been hired to cover the "_good angel"_ craze which was sweeping the city.

Catherine was a fair brunette with almond shaped green eyes fringed by long thick lashes.. She was considered a great beauty, though she was also keenly intelligent and insatiably curious.

Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, Catherine turned right, making straight for her desk ignoring the incessant though muted cacophony of printers, typing, and ringing phones. She spotted the lanky redheaded, scrub-faced young man who was making his way toward her. Diving into her tall black leather chair, she threw her heavy shoulder bag on the cluttered desk and turned the chair around so that her back was facing the floor. But, this did not deter the eager young man who quickly reached her.

His name was Pete. He was a native of Toronto and had an easy going personality so unusual in the news trade. Catherine thought he hadn't become jaded, yet. He was slender not skinny. His physical appearance was deceptive for he was stronger than he looked.

Catherine was lucky to have him as her assistant. Pete was a well respected junior newsman who was very much in demand. But to keep him from being lured away by someone else, Catherine always fed him bits and pieces in order to keep him occupied and satisfied.

Pete came from a well to do family, old money, they called it. But one would never have known. He dressed in casual jeans and warm sweaters. No designer clothes for him. His favorite foods were a hamburger and a shake. And he worked out like a little devil. He had red hair and bright blue eyes above a straight nose complimented by a dozen freckles, a thing which caused him much embarrassment. He was friendly but not overbearing. He was single, straight and not in the market.

Secretly, he had loved Catherine since the first moment he had laid eyes on her some four years before. But she, she saw him like a kid brother. And he knew there was nowhere for him to go with that.

"Good morning, Catherine. Did you have a good weekend?" Pete did not wait for an answer, but plodded on. "Cameron wants to see you. There's been another _bon ange_ sighting." His tone was amiable enough, but his meaning was clear: Cameron was snooping around. Again.

Catherine whirled the chair around.

"What does Cameron want?" She asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure." Replied Pete with a shrug. "He asked me if you had finished the piece on the _bon_ _ange." _His earnest blue eyes searched Catherine's face carefully.

Catherine felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. "That piece isn't due until next week; he gave me the deadline himself!" Catherine exclaimed, angry.

"Well, Catherine, don't bite _my_ head off!" Pete cried out in self –defense and mock anger.

Catherine stared hard at Pete. Then her eyes softened and she smiled,. "I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't mean to snap at you. But Cameron knows _bon ange_ is mine. I don't trust him." She added looking toward her boss's closed office door. "I wouldn't put it past him to have more than one investigator on the story."

Pete shrugged again and sat at the edge of Catherine's desk. "Well, it's not like we're in _Superman_ and you're Lois Lane." He gave her a wan smile. "Have you got anything for a hard copy for Johnny? At least to shut Cameron up?"

Catherine nodded. "Yeah, I got something." She reached for her bag and with one hand, began fumbling around inside. "Ha!" She exclaimed drawing out a small notepad. She flipped several pages and stopped, frowning.

"Can't read it back, huh?" Asked Pete after a moment.

"Of course I can read it back." She squinted some more and then drew forth a pair of glasses. "Okay, here it is." She said triumphantly. "Tall, very tall. " She read. "Wide shoulders. Runs with a sloping gait. Sometimes jumps." She closed the notebook. She knew who this was, if course it was _him_.

"Great." Intoned Pete sounding discouraged. "We're looking for the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Or Curious George. You should hang out at some of Toronto's churches, maybe bring some bananas. Now, how about Cameron?"

Catherine gave Pete a dirty look and closed the notepad. Taking a deep sigh, she stood, smoothed her jeans and walked to her boss's office. With a determined look on her face, Catherine opened the heavy oak door and closed it behind her.

* * *

Everybody was at their usual place for the Monday morning meeting. Some stood, others sat, while some stood closer to the door than others. Victor Cameron, an imposing man at any moment of time was in an exceptional mood this day.

At fifty-seven years of age, he had been in journalism for over forty years, more than half of these as editor in chief of the Toronto _Snoop_. He had helped refashion the _Snoop_ several years before, restructured it so that it was less palatable to hungry investors. For all of its faded glory, the _Snoop_ was still part of the MacCready Family Network, a global news presence which spanned over one hundred newspapers, magazines, scandal sheets, and even its own communications satellite.

Victor knew he had the resources to catch the bon ange. Before Catherine had come on board that hadn't mattered. But now that he had her in his corner and he would utilize her. He would use her, her smarts, her curiosity, her network. With Catherine ties to Toronto's political families, Victor knew the _Snoop_ was poised to have the inside track to the hottest news story since the Americans had bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Still, for all his news savvy, Victor never asked himself why Catherine had agreed to come to the _Snoop_. Perhaps he should have, but he never looked a gift horse in the mouth. He knew that a reporter of Catherine Grey's caliber was a trophy in anybody's trophy case, and also knew she had taken a severe pay reduction to come and work for him. _And_ he knew he had a reputation for being difficult. The correlation between Catherine Grey and the fact that the _Snoop_ was the only paper in town still pursuing the bon ange case did not occur to Victor. He simply had not made the connection and if he had it was doubtful he would've found anything unusual about things. Yet, for all of his inexperience, Pete had hit things on the head. Catherine was not Lois Lane and they were not reliving an episode of Superman. Victor wanted the inside on the bon ange and was willing to go to great lengths to get it. What Victor did not know was that there was a greater force other than himself which was, like him, willing to go to great pains to catch the bon ange. But unlike Victor this other force knew its time was running short and was beginning to act in desperation.

Victor stood now, surveying his staff and he wondered what they saw. Did they see him as he saw himself? A graying man pushing 60, not too tall but in good physical condition? A man with little or no worry lines, thanks to Botox? A widower who still dated every chance he got? Or did they see him as an old man, hopelessly over the hill? Did they see him for what he really was: a bully and liar, a manipulator with little or no friends. A man who had never learned the meaning of loyalty? He sat now behind his massive cherry wood desk and motioned for everyone to sit. Not everyone obeyed.

"Okay, okay people. Let's settle down and get this thing started. I've got an early brunch with Mayor Hall." His voice boomed in the large office and soon the grating of chairs on tiled floors and the clearing of throats, the low murmurings and quiet whispers died out to a weighty silence.

He began the meeting by going round the room, checking in on the investigative reporters first, then following that up with the regular columnists and then finishing up with his star reporter. To everyone he gave directions and editorial comment, saving Catherine, his ace reporter for the last.

Zeroing in on Catherine, Victor asked. "Got anything on the bon ange? Anything on the new sighting?" He tried to keep the impatience he felt out of his voice.

"Bogus." Victor saw the corner of her mouth curl up. She was lying. He knew the tip was very solid. So why would Catherine lie?

"Bogus?" He asked trying to keep his voice level. He wanted to shake the truth out of her.

Catherine nodded. "Bogus."

"You sure, Catherine? The tip sounded pretty solid."

"Yeah, Chief. I'm sure." There was an edge to her voice which she had meant to control but it had slipped out anyway. Catherine noticed a few heads turn in her direction.

Meeting over, Catherine bolted from the room feeling almost violated. He knew the story was hers. So why hint that he had another, possibly more reliable, source? She knew.

Catherine knew. And what's more, she knew where he might be hiding, too.

Soon she'd go to him. But she was afraid. She had been created for him, she knew they were destined for each other, yet she feared him. Would he try to kill her?

* * *

That same night, Catherine had been unable to sleep. Near dawn she had given up and sat on her small living room couch, crouching on her knees, peering out the tiny window that looked over downtown Toronto. Soft lights were coming on as the city awoke and she could make out the golden slivers of the morning sun as it broke through the clouds.

She wondered where he was. Her instincts told her he was here and her heart yearned to find him, to embrace him once more. She yearned for the feel of the strength of his body against her. In all these years she had not taken a lover or a partner, holding out for Vincent, always for Vincent.

"_Vincent_" She called softly, sending his name on the winter breeze. "_Oh, Vincent."_

The tiniest of sounds coming from the front door distracted her attention. She had no newspaper delivery so who could be at her door at this hour?

Catherine left the couch and padded to the front door. Her eyes fell on the door locks which were still secured and in place. But by her feet, she noticed the small envelope which had been slipped under her door.

Catherine frowned, wanting to pick up the envelope, but at the same time fearing whatever message it brought. Somehow she felt this had something to do with Vincent…and with Muirfield. Her insides twisted into a painful knot, but she bent down to retrieve the envelope.

It was addressed to her, by first and last name. Catherine noted it was not addressed to Catherine Grey, the woman she had been for the last ten years. It was addressed to Catherine Chandler, the woman who had died ten years before and was buried in a New York City cemetery.

Her hands began to tremble, but she controlled herself and ripped open the envelope. Catherine had expected a hand written note but instead it was typed. She wished Evan was around so she could ask him to check it for prints yet she knew that whoever had made this note had no prints. She asked herself why she suspected Muirfield was behind this?

Catherine lowered her eyes and began to read:

_See_ _Orchard Industries, cover cosmetic manufacturer, imports to China. Cover Orchard Industries_

_Notre Dame du Nord counters Muirfield Medical. Call: 819_

There was a phone number with a Quebec area code. She would call it. Of course she would call it.

Catherine folded the note over and thought. What did it mean, ' _counters Muirfield Medical.' _Counters? As in fights against? Catherine took a deep breath. Could there be another covert agency fighting Muirfield? Catherine wracked her brain to remember. Had this name ever come up before? She couldn't remember. And she couldn't call her old colleagues to ask. She was supposed to be dead.

Catherine knew she would have to face this mystery alone. She turned toward the kitchen intent on making tea and toast and then headed for her PC to google Orchard Industies.

Several hours later she had found nothing. Orchard Industries was a manufacturer of cosmetics, exporting these to China.. She saw no tie in to Muirfield. So what did that mean, 'counters Muirfield Medical'? She picked up her cell phone, retrieved the note and dialed the number.

It was answered after three rings. "Catherine?"

A muffled male voice asked her, he was using voice distortion technology.

She didn't answer at once and the voice called out again, "Catherine?"

"Yes?" She answered with a question. "Who is this?"

"Dial pound three right now." The voice ordered.

"What?" answered Catherine. The voice was one of command, using to giving orders and having them obeyed.

"On your phone key pad, Dial pound three."

Catherine obeyed and then returned her phone to her ear. "Do not put this call on speaker. Do you understand?" The voice was becoming more human.

"Yes, I understand," she replied, "Who are you?"

"My name is Jonathan Baltimore. I am an agent for Orchard Industries."

_Orchard!_

"An agent?" Catherine asked. "You mean like a secret agent, 007 and all that stuff?" She couldn't contain the hint of humor in her voice.

There was a long silence at the other end. "You need to come in so we can explain."

"Come in?" Catherine repeated.

"Yes." Jonathan Baltimore responded.

"Where do you expect me to come in?" Catherine was certain this was a Muirfield trap.

"If you want Vincent and your daughter to live, you will come in."

Catherine felt a shudder pass through her. _Her daughter_! So her dreams had been right. She had had a girl, a daughter! Then a thought entered her mind and her brow creased. How did _they_ know?

'Obviously you've been watching them."

"Yes." Jonathan Baltimore answered. "But not for the reasons you think."

"And you think I believe you?" Catherine replied, scorn in her voice.

"You _should_ believe me, Catherine." Baltimore's calm voice replied

"Why?" Catherine spat out.

"Because we are all that stands between you and Muirfield."

Catherine snorted, "That's funny when you _are_ Muirfield!"

Another long silence at the other end. "Catherine, we are not Muirfield. Come in and I will show you. I will answer all of your questions. And also perhaps give you answers to questions you haven't even thought of yet."

Catherine relented. She was willing to do anything to keep Vincent and her daughter safe. Even walk into a Muirfield trap. She must be insane, you told herself.

"Alright. Where do I go?"

"In Notre Dame Du Nord, look up Orchard Industries. Their location is easy to find. Come this Friday.. Come alone. And Catherine?"

"Yes?" Catherine asked.

"This is a burner phone. It will only last three days from now. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Replied Catherine. "I understand."

* * *

Thank you for reading. And thank you to my kick ass beta, MayaLala.

Please review if you read. Let me know what you think. It's appreciated. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

Destined

By Aneth Oren 2013

Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters

Uploading two chapters in one day! Woe. Please review and tell me if you like or not the story.

* * *

Listening to Kyla La grange, _Sympathy_

Chapter 3

Vincent had spent half the night walking the deserted streets of Toronto, the other half huddled at an abandoned construction site. Once he came across a couple of homeless men and they had offered to share their meager food rations with him, knowing he was their good angel. He spoke to them, about nothing really, but Vincent listened for they were his eyes and ears. Near dawn he headed for home, restless and bored. He wasn't tired. And he wondered at that. More than once JT had hinted at Vincent's continued agility and youthful looks. It was true, he reflected, that he suffered no aches or pains as would plague anyone growing older. And that was the brunt of it. His hair was still the same blue black it had been in his teens, twenties and thirties. No frost of time touched his temples or weaved throughout his hair. It was as if time meant nothing for him. Was this a byproduct of Muirfield's experiments? Had they somehow screwed up his biological clock?

He reached the warehouse. It was dark and silent. Vincent checked his watch. It was 6:30, an hour before Reggie got up. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, giving the world an ethereal and delicate quality.

He pulled the metal door open and let it close behind him. He could see JT huddled over a laptop, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his face. He was about to ask JT what he was doing, when Vanessa Chandler's unhurried voice reached him. Acting on pure instinct, Vincent froze and lifted panicked eyes in the direction he knew his daughter slept.

"Hey, Vincent, you're not gonna believe this!" JT called out. He pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. "So, before you go Kyle Reese on me, listen up." He picked up a manila envelope and turned it over in his hands.

"This package was left outside." JT began "There was a dvd inside."

"A package?" Vincent at last found his voice. "Whatever happened to '_Muirfield is circling_?'" Vincent was beginning to get angry. "That's my daughter sleeping over there, JT!"

"I know, Vincent. But there's some stuff on this dvd you need to listen to. Some stuff Vanessa Chandler's been up to."

Vincent was about to say he wasn't interested in whatever Vanessa Chandler had been doing when he noticed something strange about the woman whose frozen image appeared on the laptop screen.

"So she's alive. Catherine was right. And she's gotten older." Vincent muttered. Her dark hair was now peppered with gray and the skin under her eyes was yellowed and wrinkled.

"No kidding big guy." JT swung the laptop over to him. "It has been ten years, you know. Just because some of us don't seem to get any older doesn't mean everyone gets to stay young."

"I know." Vincent said, and despite his misgivings he was curious. "What does she say?"

"Oh, stuff." JT said picking at a nonexistent piece of lint on his plaid shirt.

"What stuff?" Vincent asked suspicion coloring his voice.

"Stuff. About you. About Catherine." JT answered with caution, all the while studying Vincent's face.

At the mention of her name, Vincent gave JT a long look, "I once told her we could never marry." His eyes took on a wistful longing.

JT's eyes misted and he cleared his throat. "Come on Mr. Atlas. You need to hear this." JT hit the replay and selected large screen before swinging the laptop around for Vincent. "And pay attention. I'm giving a quiz later."

The screen darkened a moment and then was filled with Vanessa Chandler's face. She looked older, worn out, and tired. In her customary low voice she began.

"Vincent. This video is being prepared and delivered by people you can trust." Vincent snorted in derision. Vanessa continued. "I know my track record with you is not good, but there are some things you need to know. Especially now." Dr. Chandler looked away from the camera and then refocused her attention back to the lens. "I suppose I should start at the beginning. My involvement with the experiments conducted by Muirfield began at a much earlier period than most people know. I immigrated with my parents and brother from China. Everyone who knew my family soon realized my brother was very special and at 16 he was being considered for the Rhodes program. I graduated from USC with a degree in biochemistry. Our parents were both geneticists who were working on the applications of cross species dna sequencing being funded by the Chinese government."

Vincent wasn't liking the direction this was going and he tried to ignore the knot forming in his stomach.

"My brother's name was Zhao. Our family name was Li. Even at an early age Zhao was very inventive and creative, someone who believed science held the answer to all of society's problems. He had an idea once, that he could rectify and even enhance man's genetic material through deliberate dna manipulation." Vincent stared hard at the screen. So Zhao, aka Muirfield, was Dr. Chandler's brother. Did she know he had killed her brother? "He wanted to eradicate disease and suffering. But, " Here Dr. Chandler paused. "Sometimes not all things go according to plan. Zhao had envisioned a world free of sickness. His work was, unfortunately, stolen and put on the internet. A recruiter from a government think tank saw the work, believed it had merit and gave it to the U.S. military." Dr. Chandler took a deep breath. "Soon the CIA had gotten its hands on Zhao's work and they offered my brother a great deal of money for it. They wanted him to test his applications in the field. Zhao saw the chance to do good." Vincent paused the video.

"What's the matter?" Asked JT.

Vincent shook his head. "This woman is really something else, you know that? She thinks we're gonna feel sorry for her little brother." Vincent shook his head in disgust. JT shrugged.

"Just listen, Vincent. It starts to get good about now."

"Oh, so there's more?"

JT nodded. "Oh trust me, much more."

"Bring it on, then." Vincent muttered. The video went on.

"Zhao saw the chance to do good." Dr. Chandler repeated. "He agreed to share his work and began to implement it in the field. The code name Muirfield was chosen because of its obscurity: it was the name of the author of the primer my brother and I used to learn English. The war in Afghanistan was going very poorly, there was little funding for it. It was not a popular war. The American government saw an opportunity using Zhao's work to not only create units of super soldiers, but also commercial opportunities to be used in the private sectors by powerful conglomerates. It was thought to be a win-win for everybody. Big business got super guinea pigs and the government got money. We could create custom ordered soldiers to do just about anything, from soldiers impervious to fire to soldiers unaffected by deep water pressures. These soldiers could be used for just about anything normal human beings could not be exposed to. You know how we obtained volunteers, but now I have to explain to you we were told all of the volunteers had been covered as to the true nature of the experiments. The CIA lied to everyone. And they were very convincing." Vincent closed his eyes, uncertain as to whether he should go on.

"Keep listening." JT urged.

"One aspect of the experiments you must keep in mind, Vincent, is the issue of continuity. How were we going to keep the numbers of test subjects steady and perhaps even grow them? Where would we get new volunteers?" In the video, Dr. Chandler sits down.

"We considered cloning you, but that was a disaster. The clones did not accept dna transfer from the parent, so we had to do double the work." Vincent frowned.

"Then it was suggested we grow the numbers through the traditional means. Impregnation of the females. But mating between beasts was risky. Mating between a beast and non beast was out of the question. Some of our scientists even volunteered for the tests but this led us nowhere very quickly. So…" Dr. Chandler trailed off. "It remained an open issue, until my brother solved that problem. He required a dna matched non morphing beast to be mated to a particular morphing beast. If the beast was a male, then his mate would be a non-morphing female whose estrogen levels would be raised to make her more desirable in her beast's eyes. The increased, matched pheromones would ensure and secure that the physical attraction was mutual, resulting in a higher desire to mate. Toward this end we selected specific beasts and grew mated pairs for bonding and impregnation."

Dr. Chandler delivered this stunning piece of information with as much calm and aplomb as one would've used to order apple pie with ice cream. Vincent blinked, uncertain he had heard right.

"Did she just…"

"Yep. She did." JT interjected. "Dude. She's saying Catherine was a beast!"

Vincent suddenly heard Catherine's voice in his head. "_We're destined."_

Destined? He thought, but by whom and for what?

Vincent shook his head. "No, no. I knew Catherine. She was not a beast."

JT scratched his head and reached for the bottle of Tums. "Wait. Let me play the last part back. Maybe you need to hear it _again!"_

"That's not necessary." Vincent said. "Catherine was not a beast. I knew her, JT!"

"Well, I guess you didn't know her as well as you thought."

Vincent felt as if all the air in his lungs had been squeezed out. "So what Dr. Chandler is saying is that Catherine was made for me, we were made for each other, so I could…"

"Inpregnate her." JT finished for him. "They created you guys to be a mated pair so you could have little beasties running around. I suppose Muirfield thought they could collect you guys later on, you know, like some weird Easter beastie hunt." He gave a little chuckle but sobered up and cleared his throat at Vincen't glare. "Well, I was just saying…"

"This is unbelievable." Vincent managed to say. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. "So this is why I couldn't push her away and she couldn't stay away."

"Muirfield mated you guys at the dna level… You couldn't resist one another. You were driven to be together."

"But how?" Vincent asked. "How could they get their hands on Catherine's dna?"

"Dr. Chandler gets into all that." JT said, popping two more Tums into his mouth. "There's more." He added quietly.

"I don't want to know more." Vincent said.

But they did watch more. After finishing the rest of the video they knew their days in the warehouse were numbered. Together they waited for Reggie to wake up.

* * *

"What do we tell her?" JT asked.

"Nothing. We tell her nothing. We've prepared her for this. How often have we drilled her that one day this may come? She knows how important it is to move without asking a hundred questions. If we stay calm she'll take her cue from us. She'll come without question. She's still a child, JT" Vincent reminded him, "For all of her intelligence, she still has the emotions of a child. She'll take her cue from us." Vincent looked around. "What we need to do is to get our gear together and put whatever is essential in boxes we can move easily."

"Well," JT began, "You're the strongest of us."

Understanding the subtle message, Vincent gave JT a little smile and began piling laptops and PC's into boxes. Without much effort he lifted these into the grocery carts JT had piled into a corner. They had sat there, for at least a year, waiting for the day that had come at last. Now, they would be put to good use.

As usual Reggie woke up at 7:30 and by 8 am they had left the warehouse for good.

* * *

Thanks to my kick ass beta, MayaLala, the BEST beta in all of ffn. She sure knows her stuff! Thanks, Maya, you're a gem!


	4. Chapter 4

Destined

By Aneth Oren 2013

Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters

Chapter 4

Listening to The Calling's _'Wherever You Will Go' _

_Thank you to everyone who has posted a review. They really inspire me to go along. Please consider leaving me a review. Tell me what you like, or don't, in this chapter. Thank you to those who are following the story or have added it as one of their favorites. Thank you to to my great beta, MayaLala!_

_Enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving!_

* * *

Soon after moving into the warehouse, Vincent discovered a vast and labyrinthine tunnel system below the abandoned buildings. JT thought they might have been built during the 19th century's height of the contraband era, serving to bring illicit alcohol and other goods into Canada from parts varied and unknown. For now, the tunnels served their purpose, and soon they selected a small one story storage unit which seemed to have been in disuse for many years. It was also situated at the most remote corner of the many abandoned buildings, thus ensuring them a greater privacy.

As Vincent had predicted, Reggie had remained calm and asked no questions, following her father's lead in silence, until they had run afoul a family of nesting spiders. Reggie had recoiled and screamed, causing Vincent to drop to one knee and whirl toward the child, relaxing when he saw what she was pointing to.

"I hate spiders!" Reggie had spat out. Her voice had echoed and ricocheted against the still tunnel corridors.

"Reg, honey, " Vincent began, taking Reggie into his arms. "Please try not to scream like that."

"Hey, Dude." JT offered. "I concur with the Liliputian here. Those creatures jump and bite!"

Turning in Vincent's arms to face JT, Regie challenged,"Who you calling short?" Her green eyes flashed.

JT opened his mouth to respond but thought the better of it. Instead, he gave Vincent a tired look. "That's what happens when your kid's a member of Mensa at age 8."

In response Reggie had stuck her tongue out.

"Oh nice." JT had begun. "Real nice."

"Hey!" Vincent had interjected "I need you two to cooperate right now. Work together." He had enunciated the word _together_ with great care and deliberation.

"I know what cooperate means, man." JT muttered.

"Me too." Reggie had chimed in.

Once they began to settle into their new home, the first order of business was to make it as clean and livable as possible. Toward this end, each grabbed a broom, duster or mop and set about clearing up.

By 11:30 Vincent called a halt to the cleaning and setting up in their new home and the trio sat down to an early lunch.

"I get the back room." Reggie exclaimed between mouthfuls of deviled ham sandwiches.

"No, that's gonna be a closet area." JT had argued.

"Nope." Reggie shook her head."My room."

"Look, we'll sort this out later. " Vincent said. "We need to talk." This he directed at JT. "I need for you to set up the security cameras and go over the footage from the old place. I wanna find out who dropped off that dvd."

"What dvd?" Reggied asked. Neither man answered her and Reggie let it drop.

After much argument, JT relented and Reggie got the back room. Sweeping out the dust and loose debris from the floor, she settled in to inflate an air mattress. It was close to 5pm and they had worked almost non stop to make the place livable. The building was structurally sound so they hadn't worried about leaks and cracks. The building had held for half a century. It looked as if it would hold for another half.

Several hours after they had arrived, JT and Vincent had set up the security cameras and had checked them out. Later, Vincent and JT had already chosen their sleeping rooms and were, like Reggie, inflating their air mattresses.

"Vincent." JT began, "when you were in med school what did your professors have to say about self experimentation?"

Vincent raised his head, surprised at the question. "What?"

JT pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. "You know. Using yourself as a guinea pig. What did they say about it?"

Vincent thought back. "Not much, I guess. I'd say they would be against it." Vincent sat back on his heels and stared at JT. "Why do you ask?"

"Did you notice Dr. Chandler mentioned that some of her colleagues volunteered for the experiments." He gave Vincent a meaningful look.

Vincent was already way ahead of JT. "You think Vanessa Chandler was a beast? That she volunteered for the experiments and that explains Catherine?"

JT nodded. "Well she told us that she and Catherine's biological father were selected because their dna matched and Muirfield was looking to make a mate for you. So they produced Catherine." He saw the flicker of doubt in Vincent's eyes. "Man, that's like sending out invitations to a test tube baby shower. I know for a fact that Vanessa Chandler had corrupt dna like you and Gabe's."

Vincent hadn't known this and looked JT square in the eye. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, big guy."

"How?" Vincent asked still not convinced.

"Evan Marks kept detailed notes on everything he did. He made entries into his files right before Thomas Chandler got married that all of the corrupt dna samples he had collected including Dr Chandler's were mutating still. He even had some of the samples still in the lab. He told Catherine as much the night of Thomas Chandler's wedding reception but I think that went right over her head. I think the night he got married Catherine's head was nowhere on Earth and that was _your_ fault."

Vincent gave JT a small smile, remembering that night when they had danced and he had felt the warmth of her, soft and yielding against the hardness of his body. He had been aroused enough to want Catherine, to take her, make her his, but things had not turned out that way. He knew instinctively that Catherine wanted him as much as he wanted her, but _things _always got in the way. He shook himself free of these thoughts and focused on the conversation at hand, "But wait, JT." Vincent interrupted. "What happened to his notes?"

"Oh, don't worry." JT assured Vincent. "I deleted those files." He saw Vincent relax and let out his breath.

"So it's safe to say Vanessa Chandler was a beast."JT went on, "and she and agent Reynolds were selected for their matched dna and that Catherine was grown. Maybe she was implanted in Vanessa later on to fake a natural pregnancy. But it wasn't. And Catherine's dna was matched to yours, so that later on you two could be a mated pair."

Vincent digested this for a moment and then said, "So everything Reynolds told Catherine was a lie?" Somehow his hatred for Muirfield grew a thousand fold.

JT nodded. "More or less. More lying than less."

Vincent lowered his head and rubbed his face before responding. "And poor Catherine. She believed it all." He felt her essence cover him like a fine mist. He was ready to tell JT about this development, but thought the better of it. JT would be suspicious and Vincent wasn't disposed to discussing his growing feeling that Catherine was alive. This would have sent JT into an emotional tailspin.

JT studied his hands for a moment. "Did you ever think, V, it might've been a good thing that Catherine passed away?" He studied Vincent's face carefully. "I mean, this might have been too much for her."

Vincent closed his eyes. "I don't know. Catherine was very strong. It's hard to say how she would've handled this kind of information. Finding out that Agent Reynolds was her biological father was very hard for her."

"But she confronted Reynolds." JT said. "She had the courage to do that."

Vincent nodded, thinking back. "Yes, she did."

"You know, Muirfield is very clever." JT suddenly said.

"What do you mean?" Vincent asked, perplexed at the sudden change in topic.

"I mean they selected the embryonic material to mate the beasts. Catherine was so protective of you. And she seemed to come to it very naturally. I used to wonder about that."

"Why?"

JT pursed his lips, looking for the right words. "I mean, it's not like you guys grew up together or you had history. I used to think she was obsessed with you."

Vincent chuckled. "And you used to tell me all the time."

JT smirked. "Yeah, now we know why. The female of the species is very protective of her young and in some cases of their mates. It's called mate guarding and many animals of different species have been observed displaying this behavior. They guard their mates from another of the opposite sex attempting to mate with their partner. Elephant seals do it, some primates do it, even some bugs do it." He saw Vincent's frown of disgust and JT shrugged, "Hey, V, I'm not making this up. Check it for yourself. It sounds to me as if Muirfield just upped Catherine's pheromones to such a height you couldn't miss each other even if you tried."

"Which we did." Vincent added, thinking of Alex Salter and Tori Windsor.

JT nodded, "Yep, which _you_ did."

"Well" Vincent began after a moment's pause. "That's all past and gone now." He turned his head to look out the window, not wishing for JT to see the emotions that he knew would be visible on his face. He missed her still, he dreamed of her even when he was not asleep, his thoughts were of her, his heart full of her. How does a heart stop loving, he asked himself? How and where do I go to search for her? How is it that I can feel her, as if she were still alive, as vibrantly alive as she had been ten years before? Could the power of his desire bring her back? Was such a thing possible? His thoughts whirled about him and he forced himself to quiet, to settle his emotions, he did not want the beast to come forth. Not at this moment.

JT studied Vincent. "You really wanna go with that?"

Vincent gave JT a confused look.

"You really think Muirfield just gave up on mating you with some winsome female beast and just walked away?"

Vincent was at a loss for words but at last said. "Let's take a look at that footage you retrieved from the warehouse security cameras." He wasn't ready to discuss Muirfield and their plots.

After watching the video several times, they discovered a single male approaching the door to their old warehouse, leaning down and depositing the manila envelope JT had found.

"So this is our man," Vincent had said. "He's well dressed."

"Very well dressed." JT had agreed and added, "Like Men In Black well dressed. Like Muirfield in Armani dressed." He popped a Tums into his mouth. "I'm beginning to feel it." JT said.

Vincent looked at the footage again. He watched the stranger drive up in a black late model Lexus, get out and place a package in front of their warehouse door. How had they tracked them here?

Just then he felt the flow of an icy wind which caressed his back. Somehow he knew it was her. How was this possible? Was it possible at all? Could she have survived, somehow? Vincent took himself back to the night Reggie had been born. Catherine had labored for countless hours, refusing medical help when it became evident it was a breach birth. Vincent had begged her to go to a hospital, but Catherine had stubbornly refused, fearing they would all be exposed. He had done his best but it soon became clear Catherine was bleeding out. After the baby was born, Vincent had realized Catherine's life hung by a thin thread and as he took her to the nearest ER room, he was certain she had died in his arms. He could no longer hear her heart beat, nor taste the flavor of her breath. He had taken her to the ER because he knew they would locate her next of kin. He knew her sister, Heather, would come forth to claim Catherine's body. Then he and JT had retreated deep into their warehouse, caring for the newborn, carting in all the supplies they would need for a baby; formula, diapers, wipes and much more. He had spent the first three weeks of Regina's life moving from safe house to safe house, not knowing what was happening in the outside world, simply knowing he had to keep his daughter alive and out of Muirfield's hands.

Thinking back took him to the present and Vincent wondered about the man in the black Lexus. Was he Muirfield? Could he trust Vanessa Chandler when she told him in the dvd that it had been prepared and delivered by people he could trust? She knew he would never trust Muirfield or their agents. So what was left? If this was not Muirfield, then who was it?

The icy tendrils reached out for him again."No." He said under his breath. At once they retreated.

"_Vincent."_He ignored her voice, beginning to worry he was losing his sanity.


	5. Chapter 5

By Aneth Oren 2013

Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters

AN: Thanks to everyone who is reading the story; and for your reviews. They really do inspire me. Thank you to those following the story and have marked it as their favorites. Here is a new chapter for the holidays. Please review.

Seasons greetings to all.

Thanks to my wonderful betas: ladybugsmomma and MayaLala

00oo00

Chapter 5

Listening to _Daughter_ by Pearl Jam.

Friday, December 31, New Year's Eve weekend…

Catherine walked into the _Snoop's_ fourth floor office and was immediately assailed by something strange: the noise level was lower than usual. She cast her eyes around and soon knew why: most of the office personnel were missing. She grinned to herself, New Year's Eve weekend; she figured half the office had called in sick. She glanced around, glad to have the place to herself and for once not have to fight people at the water cooler for a cold drink of water, not have to hear the snippy gossip in the ladies' bathroom or share the printer with the three old lady reporters that made up the home and garden section of the _Snoop._ She was sick of their leaving the printer without paper. And it was no use complaining about it.

She had stopped at a nearby café and got Pete his usual: a large hot tea just the way he liked it; strong, sweet and with milk. For herself, it had been a cinnamon latte. She rarely indulged but today was a special day, might as well celebrate, she told herself.

Walking toward her desk, she spied Pete at his PC, looking very immersed in what he was doing. She walked toward him, plopped the tea on his desk and looked at his PC. "Doing anything on the _bon ange?_"

Pete turned around, blocking Catherine's view of the PC.

"Yeah, actually, I'm following a lead." He saw the tall styro foam cup, lifted the lid, took a whiff and then resealed it, smiling at Catherine. "Wow, thanks! What brings this on? What are you plotting?"

Catherine laughed, "Oh you of little faith. I am plotting nothing, but…" Catherine frowned, "What lead are you talking about? You're supposed to turn those over to me and I decide if they should be followed up or not."

Pete held his hands out, "Whoa!" Pete cried, "Slow down. This came from Victor."

"Victor gave you a lead?" Catherine was suspicious at once. _Why would Victor Cameron give her assistant a lead?_

"Well, is it any good?"

Pete shrugged, "I don't know yet. Victor said to pull up all the photos NASA released online this month and for November.

Catherine was intrigued,"NASA?"

Pete whirled around to face his PC and brought up pictures of the Earth taken from outer space.

"Which satellite took those photos?" Catherine asked coming closer to the screen.

"That's just it…" Pete answered, "There's hundreds of them. I don't know where to start."

But thanks to her contacts, Catherine had a good guess. "Try the Atlas V or the Palladium."

Pete looked up at Catherine. "How do you know?"

Catherine shrugged, "You're not the only one who has tips. Go on, check out the Palladium."

Pete typed in the name on the search feature and soon they were looking at least 200 photos taken by the Palladium satellite. "How am I gonna go through all these pictures? I don't even know what I'm looking for!"

Catherine put a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Relax, Pete. Find the coordinates for Toronto, feed them in these and pull up the photos that are close or on the mark. Study those." She headed to her desk and flipped her PC on.

Pete Googled the coordinates for Toronto. "I got 'em!"

"Great, what are they?"

"43.7000° N, 79.4000° W," Pete yelled back.

"Thanks." Catherine had also been busy looking over the Palladium photos. She fed in the geographical coordinates for Toronto and waited. She knew that the Palladium was owned by the same network which owned the _Snoop_ and wondered why they would be scanning the city. _Were they looking for the Vincent too? Was the McCready Network run by Muirfield?_ _Was that how Victor had come up with this lead? And for that matter,_ thought Catherine, _who had fed Victor this lead?_

She took a break from her PC when Pete came over to her desk. "You got any plans for tonight?"

Catherine shrugged, "Nope. Staying at home with a good roast beef and pickles sandwich, toasting the New Year with some diet sprite and Keanu beside me with a rental of A Walk to Remember. You?"

Now it was Pete's turn to shrug. "My folks are giving a party at the _le Germain_ and they've booked 20 rooms for guests who imbibe a bit too much. They can spend the night and not worry about driving home. Though most of them have limos and drivers."

"Are you going?" Catherine asked him.

"No, I don't think so," He replied, "I'm tired of the '_when are you getting married,_' bullshit."

Surprised at his choice of words for Pete never swore in front of her, she laughed and said,"Well those of us unattached should start our own group. 'The New Year's Eve Singles and Not Worried About it Group."

Pete laughed "Yeah and we can reject anyone whose name starts with Mac anything or Van der something." He was referring to the top families in the city whose names did indeed begin with these prefixes. "I'm having none of these debutante ninnies."

Catherine gave Pete a long look, she saw a man wanting to find love but afraid to risk his heart. His face was an open book for Catherine to read. She hoped he would one day find a woman who'd be able to leave her signature without inflicting pain. "With an attitude like that, you're not getting married any time soon."

Pete nodded,"Exactly my idea."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Well, let's get back to this search."

"Okay," Pete agreed and moved off to his own desk.

Catherine mused over her the situation. She was trying to locate Vincent Keller and her daughter. She was fighting against the organization which had been attempting to obstruct her for the past ten years. She knew that most of the original Muirfield scientists had abandoned the experiments and banded together to fight Muirfield. Catherine just didn't know how successful they had been. Maybe it was Orchard? Catherine remembered now the man who had tried to warn her and had been ambushed and killed by Muirfield agents. Yet, he had been able to stumble into Catherine's office and lived long enough to tell her about Orchard. But Catherine and even the tenacious JT had been unable to trace Orchard.

She wondered about Orchard. That was the public name they gave themselves. The company cover was cosmetic product development with offices in China, the very country which had at first sponsored research into corrupt DNA sequencing. And this had all led, from the creative genius of a sixteen year old honor student, via a convoluted twist of fate, into the creation of Muirfield

Catherine's computer beeped, breaking her thoughts and she looked down at her PC. It seemed the Palladium had scanned Toronto in late November and had taken several pictures.

Catherine selected a shot of St. Michael's Cathedral only because she was familiar with the area. Zooming in, she soon noticed a blurred image crouching onto the tallest spire of the cathedral. She enlarged the image, cleaned it up and soon found herself staring at what looked like an image of a man comfortably nested between the high turrets. There was only one creature who could do that: a Muirfield beast. She tried to focus on his face. The PC imaging manager enlarged and cleaned the picture and showed Catherine its results. She sat in her chair, frozen for a moment, looking into the handsome chiseled features of Vincent Keller. She nearly panicked. It was _him! _Her next thought was_, "Oh, Vincent, how could you have been so careless?"_ If the Palladium satellite had taken these pictures and if the satellite network owned by McCready was being controlled by Muirfield, then they already had seen these photos and they would know where it had been taken. The pictures would lead them straight to Vincent and worse of all, to her daughter!

"Pete!" Catherine called out. She tried to control the panic in her voice. "Pete!" She called out louder this time.

"Yeah?" He called back.

"I'm calling you on extension 16. Pick it up."

"Okay," He yelled back.

Catherine dialed the extension and heard Pete's voice at the other end.

"Yeah, Catherine?"

"Pete, is there any way we can kill off those pictures? Make it so that nobody else can see them?

There was silence for a moment, "I don't know. One would need to get into their database. Delete those photos."

"Can you do it?" Catherine asked hopefully.

"No, I can't," Pete answered," This is NASA we're talking about, Catherine. An American government agency. I can't crack into their database. And given the paranoia the Americans have after 9/11, I wouldn't mess with them. Look at what they're doing to Julian Assange. Last time I looked, he was reduced to living in a closet behind the Ecuadorian embassy! You wanna be hunted like that?"

Catherine wanted to say she knew better than most, but she kept silent. Instead she asked, "But you know someone who can?"

"Oh, everybody knows someone who can. It's finding someone who's willing. Breaking into a government database can put anyone away for a good long time.

"Yeah, if you're caught," Catherine added.

"Let me think about this, Catherine. Okay?"

"Okay, Pete, only don't take too long."

Catherine walked to a nearby window and looked down at the sprawl that was the city of Toronto.

"_Oh Vincent,"_ she thought. _"How could you have been so careless?"_ Her worry for him and their child superseded all else. Those photos of him crouching within the towers of St. Michael's Cathedral had to be deleted. She had no way of knowing if Muirfield had seen them. She prayed they had not. She knew the secret to Muirfield was always staying one step ahead of them and she knew how lethal they were.

She thought back to Vincent, his handsome face; his shy smile; his raspy voice. She loved everything about him and had considered him one of the most beautiful men she had ever met. Though he had always blushed when she told him that saying, '_Catherine, men are not beautiful. They are handsome.'_

They had always laughed at this and she would whisper, _'beautiful' _close to his mouth, and then the fire would rise and they would be lost in each other's arms for hours.

These thoughts made her heart race, her blood rush to her head, and then the hot tears would come.

Had she been in time? Could she find him and warn him? Warn him to take their daughter far away, even if it meant she would never see her child. Could she live with that sacrifice?

Yes, she could.

"Vincent," She murmured and then let the tears flow. She lowered her head and wept in silence.

Behind her, Pete watched and wondered who it was Catherine wept for.

* * *

A week later…

After speaking to Jonathan Baltimore, Catherine found that she couldn't sleep, she couldn't eat. She found it difficult to concentrate at work, and even Victor had severely scolded her in front of the whole department for missing her deadline on the _bon ange_ story. He had given her three more days, but in her present state she doubted she'd make that deadline. She kept sensing _him_. Vincent was near; she'd stake her life on it. She felt combustible, and at bed time she felt him covering her body with his heat, she felt giddy, lighter than air.

The day came when she was expected at Orchard Industries. She called the office to say she'd not be in and was following a lead on _bon ange. _It was around nine in the morning when she set out. She felt fear, a fear like she had never known. Fear for herself, for Vincent, for their child.

Was she walking into a Muirfield trap? She felt a cold fear knotting in her stomach and fanning across her chest. She was trying to control her fear and not let it turn into terror for the sake of her daughter and Vincent.

The information Jonathan Baltimore had given her was that Orchard Industries was located in Quebec in the city of Notre Dame du Nord, an isolated town in Quebec where Orchard could carry out its research and other activities in relative secrecy. He'd revealed to her that Muirfield was located further northwest in the remote town of La Sarre. There, their comings and goings were deceptively obscured by using a mining company as cover. Both agencies knew of the other's location and watched one another with great secrecy, stealth and interest.

Catherine's Civic made it to Orchard, although it had sputtered a few times, reminding Catherine of its age and weaknesses. But they had made it and soon Catherine was, with a great deal of trepidation and fear, pushing open the double doors of Orchard Industries' main gateway. She waited in Orchard's cold and empty lobby where a delicate, beautiful receptionist announced her arrival and politely had asked her to wait. Catherine waited for several minutes as the fear factor multiplied until it became s huge knot of raw nerves. She looked up as a well dressed man in perhaps his forties, came through the doors. He approached Catherine with a friendly smile and held out his hand.

"Hello, Catherine. I am Jonathan Baltimore. It's good to finally meet you. Welcome to Orchard Industries." He gave her a genuine smile and Catherine took his hand and shook it. His grip was solid and firm; his skin a bit too warm. She could see through his designer suit the outlines of a well developed body. This man knew how to kill, she told herself. He kept the fires of his strength burning low through sheer will power. Was this man a beast? Catherine looked at him beneath her long lashes. His hair was grayed, his features delicate, almost feminine. Yet, there was real strength in his hands and promise of raw power in his body. Catherine concluded he was a beast though he controlled that side of him well and with efficiency. These thoughts made her even more nervous and scared and she could feel her heart beat a million beats per minute. She could feel herself break out into a cold sweat. The inside of her bra was already soaked. She looked at Baltimore and hoped he had not noticed.

Too late.

Baltimore looked at Catherine, let go of her hand and smiled, "There's no need to be afraid, Catherine. Nothing and no one here will hurt you. In fact, when it comes to Muirfield, you're in the safest place imaginable. We have at least 200 agents ready and available at all times. He led away from her and then turned.

"Come with me, please."

Catherine followed agent Baltimore down a long hallway that led to a heavy metal door. She saw Baltimore punch in a code which opened the locked door. He stood aside and prompted her to go first. She did so only to find this doorway led to yet another long corridor.

"These are the labs and office personnel," Jonathan told her, "Our office will be the last one, to the right."

At once the cold air of the labs hit her full on and she pulled her scarf close to her nose. The walls on either side of the hallway were painted white. Everything was white. It was meant to give an impression of sterility and authority. Catherine hated this building. There was no warmth or color here. Only pure logic and cold science.

Catherine followed the hallway as it turned left, the click of her heels echoing in the silence. Right before the hallway ended there was another locked door.

"No, here," Agent Baltimore said behind her, "We're going to the last office door to the right."

Catherine looked and saw a small metal door at her right.

"You can go in," Agent Baltimore told her.

Still, Catherine knocked, opened the door, and stepped inside.

The office was empty. There was a small metal desk, cluttered with papers. A telephone to one side, a floor lamp behind the desk, a small leather chair behind the desk, two metal chairs before the desk and a tiny sofa at one end of the wall.

Baltimore sat behind the desk and motioned for Catherine to sit down anywhere she pleased. She chose one of the metal chairs in front of the desk. She watched as agent Baltimore set his cell phone on the desk in front of him. He looked down at it a couple of times and Catherine somehow had the notion he was timing their meeting.

"Okay," He began his voice pleasant and neutral, "Our intel is that you are seeking to locate your former partner Dr. Vincent Keller and your daughter. Is that correct?"

Catherine nodded, "Yes, it is."

"First, let me assure you we are neither Muirfield Medical nor an arm of it. In fact, we fight and are opposed to Muirfield in every way."

Catherine stared at Jonathan Baltimore but said nothing.

"Catherine, let me begin by asking you a few questions. Is that okay?"

Catherine nodded her assent,

"Good," Baltimore said. "First of all, let me ask you this: how much do you know about the experiments conducted by Muirfield?"

"Only what Vincent told me, that Muirfield scientists were working on cross species DNA sequencing and that they had found a way to cross human DNA with animal DNA. The experiments went wrong somehow and the test subjects began to transform into violent creatures they were unable to control so they had the volunteers killed."

"But you know some escaped?"

Again Catherine nodded. "Yes, they were helped by Dr. Vanessa Chandler," after a moment Catherine added, "my mother."

Baltimore contemplated Catherine for a moment trying to decide whether to continue or not. "How much do you know about your mother's family?" he began at last.

Catherine shrugged. "Not much, really. They were initially from China."

"Yes." Said Baltimore. "Her family immigrated in the late 1980's; by the late 1990's her brother, your uncle Zhao Li, was already working on splitting and crossing DNA sequences with animal DNA. His thesis argued this would eradicate many genetic disorders by creating stronger DNA pairs. The work sounded great on paper but did not translate well with human hosts. As we know the results were tragic.

Catherine sat stock still, stupefied by what she had just heard. Her mother had a brother. She had an uncle!

"But," Catherine asked, "How does my family tie in with Muirfield?"

Baltimore blinked once. He was trying to decide if she was strong enough to hear the truth. He finally decided if she had come this far, she could learn the rest.

"Catherine." He began slowly, "Your family_ is _Muirfield."

"What?" Catherine began, she shook her head slowly. "No. I...My mother was killed by Muirfield!"

"Your uncle, Zhao, was Muirfield. He created and named it Muirfield. Muirfield was a family project which was begun by your uncle and later conducted by your grandparents and your mother."

Catherine did not know whether to cry or shout."My grandparents?"

"Deceased now," Baltimore said. "Natural causes," he added hastily.

Seeing the expression on Catherine's face, Baltimore took a deep breath and said, "I think I need to start at the beginning."

Catherine nodded, "That would be most helpful."


End file.
